


Cleopatra

by saviorbrother



Series: for all the whores [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 11:53:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6469141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saviorbrother/pseuds/saviorbrother
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Boys you like don't share genes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cleopatra

There's nothing as bittersweet as a dream you'll never achieve.

"Think I could pick you up later, or somethin'?"

Sam doesn't look their way. Leaning against the slimy diner front, waiting for Dean to finish picking up Stephanie, some college girl, and get back in time for Sam to finish his English homework. The sun is starting to take refuge under the dark line of night.

She's tan and tall, taller than Dean, with a voice deeper than Sam's. Husky voice and brown sugar limbs.

"Around nine, go for a drive and drop me back off at my dorm," she's just as much a player as Dean is.

"Perfect, see ya' later."

Somewhere between conception and birth, Sam's ovaries became nuts and his clit became a dick and he never did produce enough estrogen to grow boobs.

"Dude, did you see the legs on that girl?" his brother comes prancing over to him.

"Yeah, hard not to when her shorts were up her ass," Sam shrugs, pushing off the wall and getting on towards the car.

"That was the best part. I know you can't have the girl an' all, but be excited for me, man."

Sam feels the dust of rage settle in the hollows of his bones while he waits for Dean to unlock the doors. A light bruise still graces Dean's left eye, adding to the allure of his persona.

"That stopped being exciting when I was twelve."

Twelve and he would cry while Dean recited his night with other girls, it sounded like his obituary every night.

"Just get in the fuckin' car, Sam."

Eye rolls and curses hurt as much as hitting his funny bone on cracked linoleum. Boys who like you don't insult you, give you Indian burns, and talk to you about the girls they fuck like you might wanna fuck them, too.

Boys you like don't share genes.

\---

Sam has spent his life losing to girls and their genetic make up. Their make up, period. He hasn't ever really wanted to be one of them, he sees the pain they can inhale and hold inside their lungs, tears streaming down their perfected faces. Sam can't deal with anger in that way, it bursts from his bird chest in great gushes of air.

"Nice socks." 

Melrose Sinada is a girl who can hold it all inside and cut you with her eyes closed. He'd die for a skill as precious as that. He wouldn't ever have to speak a word to John to hurt him.

"Nice pimple," he shoots back, easy as wind and keeps stalking down the hall.

His jeans have never fit better than they do at fifteen but his shirts don't fit as they should, he isn't Dean. Last week, Melrose leant against the burning metal of the Impala without wincing and giggled like Dean's corny jokes were a riot. All while she felt up his bare arms and he flexed them for her.

Melrose, what kind of name was that anyway? His knees kept hitting the dashboard when he jiggled them and his sweat kept trailing from his hairline to his ear. Pure fury ripping his chest to jealous shreds.

Melrose happens to be dating Dean now.

\---

Tonight, she's won again, as the girls tend to. They trump Sam in every way, all his ways are with Dean.

Staring at the ceiling and tears tickling his ears. Sam swears he hears his heart stop when his brother leaves him alone, you're supposed to feel when you cry, good or bad. All he ever feels is numb and immobile. But the sobs come like he's taking his last dying breath and he's got no one but himself to hang onto.

Pizza sits heavily inside his stomach, distending it slightly, and the rest of it is cold on the table. He always saves Dean some but he knows his brother eats enough before he gets home to him. Stomach full of girl juices and sweetened saliva.

Sam would give anything to have Dean as his. Even if it meant tasting Melrose in his mouth. That's how desperate he is.

He cries harder, turning his back to the door and curling up on his side, finally feeling the curving blade of agony.

Girls are the peak of God's greatest creation and Sam can't stand them.

\---

"Hey, what's wrong, buddy?"

Sam takes a gasping breath in the dark before he's bawling again, tried to hold it inside till Dean could get into the bathroom, but his brother is crawling up behind him.

"N-not your fuckin--ing buddy," he swallows thickly, batting Dean's hands away.

In the end, Dean holds him with arms like steel bands, one hand at Sam's forehead, fingers brushing away his bangs and the other around his waist.

"Get to sleep, calm the fuck down," his brother says into his ear, almost losing his patience.

He reeks of pussy and smoke, Dean's body still heated. None of it belongs to Sam, it isn't his stench on his brother's fingers or in his mouth.

"Don't wanna calm down, you asshole," he growls, shedding more tears.

He breaks down and lets Dean hold him, Sam is weak and wants to be fragile, wishes he could be held like the girls in movies do.

Sam doesn't want to be a girl, he just wants to Dean to treat him like one.

His head is held against Dean's shoulder like he might use it to bash his skull in if he's allowed the space. Snot is clogging up his nose and tears don't stop coming, but Dean is holding him, speaking about things that might placate him in other situations.

But Sam is fifteen and heartbroken, and the only reason his Romeo is holding him is because he thinks Sam is nuts.

"I'll go to sleep now, Dean."

\---

"You'd look nice with some mascara on. Or some eyeliner."

He slams his locker closed, surprised. When Sam turns around, she's leaning against her own with her pretty head tilted.

"Melrose. You know I'm a boy. Right?" he explains, nodding his head slowly.

"Of course, idiot. You just have the face for it, like some exotic dancer," she squints, examining his features as they start walking down the empty hallway.

Dean tends to leave each town with a trunk full of broken, bloody hearts, and Sam doubts that Melrose will be the exception. All the girls try to but never succeed, he can't help them either.

"Your brother has a nice face, natural, but he can't pull off make up the way you could. Put anything extra on his face and it'll fuck it up. Not to say you're--like, ugly or anything."

"I get it, Dean is hot just by being him."

They walk in tune down the hall, her hips swiveling, pleated skirt swaying with her. Melrose isn't a cheerleader or school president or something fancy. Decent grades and a cool face. The coolest face in the school, so why is she studying his?

He stops by the door of his classroom and she spins to stand in front of him, rapping her knuckles three times against the hard wood as she starts to speak.

"Look, what I'm trying to say is, if I had your eyes, Dean would never leave me. He'd kill for me," she shrugs, big eyes desperate and wanting.

Sam sneers some, ready to say she better count her lucky stars that she's of the opposite sex and good looking enough to have caught Dean's attention.

He doesn't cause she gets his teacher to let his tardiness pass.

Her ponytail bounces with each step and Sam twists an end of his hair in envy.

\---

Dean plops down onto the couch beside him and flings a lazy arm around his shoulder. Sam starts to lean into it, smiling until Dean starts to speak.

"What do you think of Melrose?"

"What kind of question is that?"

"I dunno, she just talks about you a lot."

Dean gets up and makes his way towards the fridge, looking at nothing.

"About me?"

"Nothing bad. Just...you, ya know? Your face and stuff."

"Why?"

"Shit if I know."

_"He'd kill for me."_

Sams shrugs.

"Hey, Dean? You ever tried on make-up?"

Dean hums, pondering.

"Mel put some on me a few days ago. I was drunk, half way to fucking sleep."

"Did you like it?"

"No."

"Why?"

Dean stops a few feet from the back of the couch.

"Just reminded me of..." he trails off, eyes going somewhere far.

"Of?" Sam urges, twisted around to watch his older brother's reaction.

"Mom." Dean clears his throat, "Mom. She used to put some on when Dad would take her out. I'd watch her hurry to look good and stuff and she'd ask me which color I liked better. Sometimes she'd change her dress cause I chose green and she was wearing blue."

He makes his way back to the couch, taking his time to sit back down next to Sam. Any sudden movement could mess with the memories.

"Dad would tell her she looked beautiful without it. I think it was cause he'd liked just...seeing her. Running his knuckles along her face, gentle as anything, man. Just look at her," His brother is running his own knuckles along his face.

In the bare light of the television, Dean is four and seeing Mom getting ready for another date. Sitting next to Sam, eyes intent on him.

Roughened knuckles brush Sam's stray hairs away, treating him like Dad probably treated Mom.

"Just look at her. Just like this, Sammy," Dean's voice is a raspy wisp, leaning forward.

"Yeah?" he shakes, Dean is gonna kiss him.

He can see every curled eyelash, the droop of eyelids, the dry-pink of Dean's mouth. His heart is about to _thud thud thud_ right from his chest, burst in hues of reds and blood-blues.

"Same way I'm lookin' at you now," Dean sounds hurt, aching.

Sam doesn't close his eyes till Dean tilts his chin up and presses the softest kiss to his mouth. Dean isn't kissing him like he's a girl. He's Sam, plain ol' Sammy.

His brother gets hungry, grabbing him by the hair and pushing his tongue to slip between Sam's lips. Hot breaths and small, secret gasps, roaming hands.

"What about Melrose?" Sam pants, wrapping his arms around Dean's shoulders.

They both calm down enough to just hold on, catch their breath and relax. Sam's dick is drooling, rigid against his thigh.

"Ah, she, uh. I dunno, I dunno, Sammy."

Dean slips away from their embrace, never his, not anymore.

"I'm gonna step out. For a second, for a beer," Dean stands up and away, rubbing at the back of his neck.

"Uh, okay--okay, sounds--alright," Sam slaps a hand to his knee, nodding awkwardly.

"Sam--"

"Just go, go see her, it's cool."

Sam isn't cool. He deflates on the couch, pathetic. It's normal for girls to get broken up over guys, that's what he sees on TV, in real life.

Dean leaves in an air of guilt, the door slamming, shattering the last vestiges of Sam's innocence. Where do girls get off breaking his heart? Not even his eyes could stop Dean from leaving.


End file.
